


His nightly routine

by Woozletania



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Obsessive Behavior
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-30
Updated: 2019-04-30
Packaged: 2020-02-10 12:25:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18660406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Woozletania/pseuds/Woozletania
Summary: After Endgame, Rocket tries to make himself believe he has a family again. It's a work in progress.(Some Endgame spoilers.)





	His nightly routine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [madness_on_the_milano](https://archiveofourown.org/users/madness_on_the_milano/gifts).



It was a little round bed, much patched. Originally a "travel bed for anthropomorphs, size three" Quill picked up for him at a remote station, or so Star-Lord maintained. Rocket wasn't fooled for an instant. It was a pet bed. But never once had Peter gloated about it, even though he knew as well as Rocket what it was. For years it was Rocket's bed on the Milano and later the Benatar, because with its raised padded rim and quilted bottom it was damn comfortable. Rocket had a lot of problems. A comfy bed wasn't one of them.

The little raccoon started awake, shivering. He knew from painful experience not to sit bolt upright in bed. Crowded as the Benatar was now, the only spot free for his little bed was wedged into the space under the cockpit stairs. Rocket didn't need much space, which was a good thing these days.

"No, no." He covered his eyes with his furry little hands. "There's nothing wrong. Go back to sleep, you das't idiot." For a moment he lay there, sniffing. Fresh smells. Friends, family. He didn't have to get up to know they were all still there. Rocket curled back up, wrapping his tail over his eyes. He didn't need to get up.

His attempt to sleep lasted just over a minute. He just couldn't do it. He couldn't not check. Rocket crawled out of bed, staying on all fours so he wouldn't bang his head. His nightclothes, just a loose pair of thin cloth pants and a vest, rustled as he made his way down along the wall.

The Benatar was slightly larger than the Milano, but even so it was not meant to be a passenger ship. What passed for cabins were converted closets and equipment lockets, barely big enough for a narrow bed. Two fold-down beds in the common area added to the sleeping space. Every available spot was occupied.

Rocket reached the door to the first cabin, a slim door barely wide enough for a humie. He'd long since installed a second catch down at his level and he silently slid the door open.

Rocket sniffed, and took a cautious four-legged step into the little room. Painstakingly he stepped between the shed leaves, the vines, anything that might make noise. When he reached the bed there was hardly enough room even for him, between the woody arm hanging from the bed and the clutter of junk Groot left lying around.

He sat for a moment, sniffing. Fresh woody smells. Groot. Leaning against the bulkhead was the teen's stupid game slate. The only time Groot ever put it down was when he was fighting, asleep, or, Rocket remembered, at the funerals they'd attended recently. Stark and the Widow.

He missed Natasha. They gave each other shit but she was a good person. Stark? Well, Stark was a dick but he'd gone out the right way. The way Rocket wanted to go out, when he did. Fighting the good fight.

Silently, with the skill of much practice, Rocket slid the cover off the back of the slate and swapped batteries. He'd charge the dry one at his workstation later. Just as quietly he slid the cover back on, then sat looking up at Groot's hand. The tree was sleeping sitting up, anchored to the bulkhead by a web of vines. He could grow or shed them at will. Once they broke off they died, like shed leaves. Unless Groot himself died, you couldn't grow any of his leavings back into a new tree. And sometimes not even then, Rocket knew. He'd tried. Old Groot he'd grown back, but after the Snap he never got the teen to grow back. Not in five years of trying.

Rocket yawned, clapping a hand over his muzzle to quiet the sound. Stupid. What time was it? Two A.M., ship time?

Just as silently he made his way out of the cabin and slid the door shut. He was right next to one of the fold-down beds and paused. The smell of metal, electronics, oil. Flesh, but only a little.

Rocket knew his own smell included the scent of metal, but only maybe ten percent of him was artificial and almost all of that was implants. If he covered up his back, his collarbones, didn't let you see the bolts hiding in his fur, you'd think he was wholly natural.

Nebula was the opposite. Gently he touched the metallic hand hanging over the side of the bed, sensing the powered-down servos via his marvelously sensitive fingers.

If anyone else touched her when she rested - she didn't need to sleep much, but mimicked the other Guardians when on board - they risked being smashed into a wall. Not Rocket. The hand moved and Rocket let her stroke his ears for a moment before moving on. She knew his habits. For five years they'd been the last Guardians. For five years she'd been his best friend, and he hers.

The next door in the wall housed their newest crewmember. It'd been his cabin, until Thor came on board. Rocket paused by the door, listening. This door had a small covered opening at the bottom Pete called a "cat flap" and Rocket poked his head through. Stormbreaker leaned against the wall at the far end and Thor was snoring on the narrow bunk.

Rocket sniffed. Booze, but not as much. Thor was recovering. He'd sparred with Drax the day before on the surface of a cold lonely moon and Rocket was pretty sure Thor would work off that flab soon.

He let the flap shut without going in. Thor would be OK. Between talking to his mom and then finally helping to fix everything, Thor was on the way back from the edge.

He padded along the back wall of the ship's main compartment. The airlock door was here, and the corner he used as a workstation. Sometimes he worked so long he fell asleep at his chair and woke up in his bed. No one admitted how that happened but you couldn't fool Rocket's nose. He knew when someone touched him when he was asleep.

Mantis. He slid the door silently open and crept in. She was entirely under the covers, not even her antenna in sight. He wondered if the ship's temperature was too cool for her species, but she never complained.

He'd almost bitten Mantis when they met, when she tried to touch the nape of his neck. You didn't touch there without his permission. He'd been lifted by the scruff and carried to an operating table too many times to allow it. He'd let her do it now, if she wanted. She'd helped him a lot when she came on board, using her powers to sooth his lingering fears. In many ways she was the most powerful Guardian, maybe even more so than Thor.

He settled down quietly by her bed, listening, smelling. Just making sure she was really there. She rarely used the blaster he'd given her but he checked it over just the same, since it was hanging right next to her bed. When he started to fall asleep there on the metal deck he shook himself awake and padded back out.

He padded beneath the second fold-down bed, ignoring its snoozing occupant, and reached the last cabin door. Pete.

Pete long since realized that Rocket could jimmy any door on the ship and kept adding new locks and latches. The newest one was pretty good. Rocket had to scale the wall by digging his claws in between the plates to get to it, then hold on only with his feet as he worked. It took him two whole minutes to get the door open.

He crept in, silent on all fours - he was quieter that way, good for thieving - and there was Pete. The captain's cabin, or what passed for one, was the largest, with barely enough room for a two-occupant bed. Star-Lord was tangled in the covers, sprawled out in every direction like a human starfish. Rocket knew what was going on. Even in sleep, Pete missed Gamora.

Rocket gathered himself for a moment then leapt lightly up onto the bed. A real raccoon wasn't much of a jumper, he knew now, but he was easily five times as strong as he looked. He settled down next to Star-Lord, curling up against his friend's thigh. When a sleepy hand came down to pet him he didn't object. Pete was lonely. He knew what that was like. He heard the sleeping man's breathing relax, felt him sink into a deeper sleep. Companionship helped. He wasn't Gamora, but he was there, a warm comfortable presence against his thigh.

An hour later he flinched awake as his wristband chirped, too high-pitched for a humie to hear. He stood and stretched, careful not to wake Peter. Couldn't risk Star-Lord waking to find him curled up on the bed like a pet. As silently as possible he jumped back down from the bed and snuck out.

There was only one person left to visit. He padded back to the second pull-down bed. A thick arm and massive hand hung down to the floor and he pressed beneath it, walking along on all fours and using the hand to pet himself. He didn't squirm free when the huge hand scooped him up off the deck and pulled him into bed.

He was shaking as he curled up against Drax's chest. He'd kept it together for five years with only Nebula. Why was he breaking down now?

"Stupid," Rocket muttered. "I'm so stupid. Stupid eyes. Made me wrong, they aren't supposed to leak like this."

"We didn't mean to leave you alone," Drax murmured. Across the room Nebula turned her head slightly. She knew what was happening. She didn't say anything.

"You better not do it again," Rocket sobbed, and punched Drax in the chest. Drax said nothing. He just held Rocket as he cried. 

Across the room Drax met Nebula's eyes, and she nodded. It'd been seven days since they returned and every night the same sequence played out. Rocket would go from room to room, making sure everyone was really there and doing kind little things no one must ever know about. Then, when he knew they hadn't vanished on him again, he'd come to Drax for comfort.

They didn't know how old Rocket was. At least nine now, plus however long he lived before he met them. What they did know was how he behaved, tough and prickly on the outside because that was all that kept him alive in the early days.

It wasn't until he opened up to you that you realized what a lost and lonely little child he really was. The other Guardians had grown up with families, friendships, love. Even Nebula, until Thanos took her. Rocket never had any of that. Before Groot, no one had shown him the least kindness and once he had a family he clung tight. Losing even one of them hurt. Losing all of them nearly destroyed him.

When the little raccoon had cried himself to sleep Drax carried him carefully back to his little bed. He paused on his way back to his own.

"Give him time," Nebula whispered. Drax nodded, and returned to his bed. He'd held Rocket each night and put him back in bed. There'd been a time that all that kept Rocket alive was anger, fear and hate. The little raccoon was still learning to replace all that with love. Drax would give him as long as he needed.


End file.
